


Patterns of Rain

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Rain, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 05:21:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7421554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is a rainy evening and the power has gone out. John has an idea for what they can be doing with that time, Sherlock has others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patterns of Rain

The rain pattered against the windows as Sherlock rushed from room to room, adding on to the growing pile of blankets and cups held in his arms. John sat on the floor with his back against the sofa, barely dodging an avalanche of blankets as Sherlock dumped them next to where he sat.

“Use these. I’ll check the upstairs room for extras.”

John sighed, “Sherlock, we’ve got more than enough blankets, just fetch Mrs. Hudson already.”

Sherlock grumbled but complied, rushing down the stairs. John flipped his laptop shut and made his way over to the kitchen counter, where various cups were gathered. Of those that were clean he pulled out three and poured some warm tea.

“What’s all this about?” Mrs. Hudson’s voice filtered from the stairway, but Sherlock simply dragged her up and over to the sofa where the blankets were heaped.

“Power’s going to be out for a couple of hours, thought you could use something to keep you warm.” John explained, while handing them each a mug before sitting down. 

“Erm… actually… John, could you go down and bring us some candles?”

“Why don’t you–?”

Sherlock gave him a particularly pouty look and John groaned, getting up and wandering off slowly. Once he was finally downstairs, Sherlock sat down close to Mrs. Hudson, pulling a blanket over them.

“Mrs. Hudson?” Sherlock whispered.

She glanced at him and then carefully put down her mug, “Something you wanted to tell me about, dear?”

Sherlock looked over at the stairs and then fished something out of his pocket. It was a ring, small compared to his hand, the pattern of rain from the window rolling down the silver band.

“Is that? Is that for him?” Mrs. Hudson squealed, bunching up the blanket in her hands. When Sherlock nodded she smoothed out the fabric, “Don’t you worry, dear, just ask him when you feel it’s right, don’t wait for a perfect moment.”

“But will he accept?” Sherlock pulled the covers up to his chin, “Will he want me?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” Mrs. Hudson ran a soothing hand down his shoulder, “He should be up in a few minutes.”

“But it’s not–”

“Never a perfect moment, dear.” she sipped her tea in that smug motherly way of hers.

Just then, John entered the room, carrying a couple of small candles. As he set them out and lit them all, the weight of the ring hidden in Sherlock’s palm seemed to lighten as the rest of the room did. 

Only once John was cuddled up next to him, the both of them hidden under a pile of blankets, did Sherlock finally turn, slipping the ring into John’s hand. John stared at it for a few seconds, as if trying to comprehend what he was holding, and then he placed his mug shakily onto the coffee table.

“What… what is this… Sherlock?” he looked up, desperately searching Sherlock’s face for some sign that this was another weird experiment he wasn’t privy to. Instead he only found open anxiousness and love.

Sherlock took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut, “John Watson, would you like to be my husband?” 

The last part of the question was so faint John could barely hear it, but he realised exactly what was going on. He pulled Sherlock into a hug, kissing him and nuzzling his neck.

“Of course I would. Of course I would, you lovely git.” he grinned, letting Sherlock slip the ring - perfectly sized - onto his finger.

Their moment of quiet was interrupted by a delighted shriek from Mrs. Hudson, whom they had totally forgotten about but who had since started on her second mug of tea and had watched the whole thing while coming back from the kitchen. Sherlock ducked his head to hide his blush, but John kissed him anyway. 

“Ooh, when’s the wedding?” she asked.

John just chuckled, “I think we’ll sort that out later, Mrs. Hudson.”

So they spent the rest of the afternoon cuddled up together, talking about the future or sitting in communal silence. The rain kept pattering on till dark, and the light from the candles spread out across the huddled occupants of 221 Baker Street, safe and secure in the new chapter of their lives.


End file.
